


Love and Lasers

by Ozymanreis



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [62]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drabble, Fun, Games, Laser Tag, M/M, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 00:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4079506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozymanreis/pseuds/Ozymanreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three, two, one. Run. The pulsing techno began. Everyone scatters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love and Lasers

**Author's Note:**

> #51: Sport
> 
> The MorMorLock aspect is blink-and-you'll-miss it, and only at the end. If it bothers you, I made sure it is easy enough to ignore! :)

“I swear I’m too old for this…” Jim grumbles, stuffing his Westwood-clad arms into a hard plastic vest, shiny loafers probably not the best choice for this particular date. 

“You’re not even a year older than I am.” Sherlock points out, torso made chunky by the black boxes and spots indicative of weakness. He picked up the “phaser” attached to it by a curly wire.

“Yes, and _you’re_ too old for this.” Jim gives a cursory glance around at the ten or so others, “ _Everyone_ here is a child to late teens. We’re late to the party by at least a decade… and could you please zip me up?” He asks sheepishly, the zippers underneath the armpits giving him trouble. Sherlock laughs once before obliging.

“Well I was curious, and I can’t exactly go back in time to play laser tag as a child, so…” 

“And you dragged me along with you so… what? You’d feel less ridiculous?”

“It’s a date!” Sherlock stuck out his tongue to the side, “Now pick up your gun and choose a screen name.” He types out his own: _Blue Team, Number 12: OnlyConsultingDetective_

“How original.” Jim rolls his eyes, taking his turn on the computer after him: _Red Team, Number 7: ThievingMagpie_

“Talk about ‘original.’” Sherlock teases, kissing his boyfriend’s forehead affectionately, “Rossini might have a few qualms with that.”

“Shut up.” Jim leaves it at that, walking to the opposite side of the room with his so-called “team.” 

The rules are explained. No physical contact. No swearing. You have 100 shots’ worth of charge on your gun before you need to return to your base and recharge. Protect the base. You have 200 hit points, each shot can take 1-5, depending on where you’re shot. The sensor over the heart is the most vulnerable, but also the smallest. 

If you die, return to the base to respawn. So much time for each point to be revived. 

 _Easy enough_. Jim thinks, looking around skeptically at the children and Sherlock, _None of them even know how to handle a weapon, I bet. Sherlycurls over there scratches his head with a real pistol…_

Three, two, one. Run. The pulsing techno began. Everyone scatters. Most of Jim’s red team flee to the base to get their bearings, but he takes the opposite tactic, running to pick off the blue team doing the same. He kneels behind a holed wall, perching the gun there for steadiness, getting ten good shots in before any of the teens knew what was happening. 

Snickering to himself, he paces away, hunched over in the cover of the dark surroundings. He leans back into a corner, sliding down and resting a moment, deep breaths, a bit too giddy with himself. Oh this was _fun._ _Best never let Sherlock know he was right… I’ll be going on all sorts of these excursions… Then again, if this stays fun, it might not be that bad._

Then again, _again_ , not all of Sherlock’s ideas would be so tame and joyful.

Suddenly, in the middle of his musings, his vest begins to shout at him, flashing, beeping, firing, loud in his ears. _Hit points: 100, 95, 90, 85, 80…_ “What the — ?” He looks around frantically, but cannot find the _bastard_ shooting at him. Above, all sides… _nothing_. Before he can even think to _flee_ , he’s lost half his life. 

 _10\. 5. 0._ His vest goes dead, flashing red, telling him to return to the base, “What little…” Apparently some _arrogant kid_ had gotten him. Feet hit the ground fast and hard as he returns to the base to regain health. _Three minutes to full restore. Damn._

Meanwhile, Sherlock isn’t doing so well either. Started off well, or at least, he’d hidden behind a foam partition. Didn’t really shoot anyone, but didn’t get shot in return. The thrill of the face-paced music, people dashing past was adrenaline rush enough.

But then, story the same: vest screeching, blaring damage lights, points recorded on the back of his gun dropping like flies. To his credit, he’s got better flight reflexes than Jim, fleeing in _any_ direction. However, he ran straight into a group of the third team — green? He hadn’t even been thinking of —

Open fire. Almost immediately _0\. Respawn._ He growls in displeasure, gripping his gun, nearly throwing it down, only barely remembering that it was strapped to him. Returning begrudgingly to his base, three minutes until he could play again. _Dull_. 

Back to full health, Sherlock carefully tiptoed out of the safety of the spawn point. He looks around, over his shoulder, up, even crouching down to look for feet more covertly. Sneaky or no, it was ruined within seconds as his vest lit up again, blinking him out like a beacon, life immediately dropping. He rolls his eyes, _Well. Game over._

Frustrated, he returned to the base, waiting for it to end. 

Jim kept the illusion of hope, creeping steadily toward the blue team’s base, hoping to take it down. _Fastest way to end the game and see who killed me._ Slowly but surely, more than two thirds of the way there. He could see it. He could even see the silhouette of those lovely curls. 

Smirking to himself, Jim lifted his gun, sights lined up over his heart — then his own vest lit up, rattling his concentration. “ _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ ” He swore in rapid succession, running in the opposite direction, back to his safe haven. 

 _Blue base eliminated._ The computerized voice announced over the speakers.Jim’s eyes widen; wasn’t Sherlock _just_ there? Halfway back, his ears, now searching for indicative noises, heard damaged, shrill beeps from his turf. Someone was well on their way to destroying —

 _Red base eliminated. Green team victorious._ The music stops, lights in the arena turning on properly. 

Jim stops dead. _I.. lost?_ He lost. Nothing he could’ve done. At all. How could a children’s game make him feel so _helpless?_

He trudges out, finding Sherlock, dejectedly throwing the vest off, holstering the gun. “Rubbish…” The detective mutters, shaking out his curls. The motion sets off his periphery, looking up to see Jim, “Hey…” He says, rubbing his elbows uncomfortably, “Have fun?” 

“Oh, _tons_.” Jim grumbles sarcastically, but as he shucks off his gear, he takes on a softer tone, “Well… the first ten minutes or so were actually quite… _exhilarating_ — ” 

“And then you started dying?” Sherlock finishes.

“Yeah.”

The taller man shrugs, winding an arm around Jim’s waist, “Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright. No big deal.” 

“Oh no?” Sherlock challenges, getting a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Well, then you don’t mind if we leave without looking at the scoreboar — ” Jim’s already gone.

“Gimme that!” He pushes some fussing adults out of the way to look at the large display screen, scanning it fastidiously, “Green Team won… MVP with the most kills is… who the hell is _SniperTiger_?” But the second the words leave his mouth, he knows, “ _Dammit_.” 

“A little insulted you guys didn’t invite me.” A deep voice comes from behind them, reverberating through the floor. The consultants whip their heads around, Moran approaching slowly, decked-out in the laser tag getup. 

“You can’t see _why_ we didn’t?” Jim growls, “Stupid sniper with your _fancy training_ …” 

“I _could’ve_ been on one of _your_ teams. Helped you out, been a ringer… you get it.” He hums, lazily shrugging out of the vest, “But _no_ , ‘Sebastian isn’t cool enough,’ or something like that. So I had to hurt you both.”

 


End file.
